Booked (7 page)

Wow! Like, what kind of words?

Like, uh, Quattlebaum.

Miss Quattlebaum?

Yep, her name is a portmanteau word, which means it's made up of two different words. Her name is German.
Quattle
means “fruit,” and
baum
means “tree.”

So she's Miss Fruit Tree.

Sure is, but we probably shouldn't call her that.

That's funny. What about my last name, Farrow?

Uh, I think it means “pretty” or something.
^*

. . .

So, do you like soccer?

Not really.

Oh!

Just kidding. I like watching you play.

. . .

Hey, I'm sorry about your parents.

Huh? I mean, what do you mean?

I saw what you posted about them ruining your life.

Oh, I wasn't, I mean, they—

My parents trip out too. It's so annoying.

I'm over it anyway.

Well that's good, 'cause I don't want you to lose your smile again.

. . .

Here comes my mom. Raincheck on a big hug. See you in school, Nick.

Okay, uh, thanks, uh, bye, April.

better than getting a hug

from April is the PROMISE

of getting a HUG from her.

If there are 278,000 people

in your city,

what are the odds

of you running

into the two people

you least

want to run

into?

from the community center

to his home

like he's always done,

only this time,

before he even gets

a block away,

he meets trouble.

Where you going, Nick?
asks Don, not

really caring about an answer.

Yeah, didn't think you'd see us again

this year, did you?
says Dean.

The only thing

to do

right now

is gallop like a thoroughbred

as fast as your bike will possibly go,

and race

for your life.

Seems like to me, you owe us,
says Dean.

For what? you manage to ask.

For getting us kicked out of school, punk.

. . .

Give us your bike.

Uh, I can't give it to you. I'll get in trouble.

Then I guess we'll kick the crap out of you.

Boy rides his bike

from the community center

to his home

like he's always done,

only this time,

before he even gets

a block away,

he meets trouble

and ends up

walking.

Maybe living there is not

such a bad thing. At least you

wouldn't be bullied anymore.

An hour later

you tiptoe

up the stairs,

try to sneak

past his room

before he—

(Too late.)

Nicholas, come here.

Very next time

you disobey me,

there'll be no Dallas.

Now do what you were supposed to do

and come home after school every day.

And give me your phone.

It's not fair. IT'S JUST
NOT FAIR.

You better lower your voice!

I HAD TO
WALK
ALL THE WAY HOME.

Where's your bus pass? Is your lip bleeding?

I rode my bike. I'm going to bed.

I asked you a question? And where's your bike?

They took it.

Who is they? And why'd you let them take it?

Why are you always blaming me?

No one's blaming you. I'm just asking—

I'm tired of this. You're always fussing

at me for not reading your stupid dictionary

or cleaning up my room.

You don't let me
do
ANYTHING.

You take my phone,

you took Mom,

and now you want to

take away

the last good thing

in my freakin' life:

SOCCER.

Calm down, Nicholas.

NO.
I'm sick of it.

My life sucks.

I get bullied at school.

I get bullied at home.

I HATE MY LIFE!

I wish I was. Sometimes, I just wish I was—

What? You wish you were
what?

Dead.

The blasting rap music

in your headphones

makes you feel less sad

but still angry

about things, so

you start ripping

pages

from books

on your shelf

and only stop

when you get to

his dictionary, because

even though you're pissed

you're not stupid.

At the top

of the page

you almost ripped

is the word

sweven.
^*

You fall asleep

repeating it

497 times

and dream that . . .

You sprained your ankle

on a dictionary while

moonwalking

with Michael Jackson.

Your parents

celebrate

their twentieth anniversary

at the Dallas Cup.

You beat up

Dean and Don

for picking on April, and then

you fall off

a mountain

but right before

you CRASH

you wake up

crying

in your mom's

arms.

Dad called,
she says, wiping your tears.
I drove all night. We're both worried about you, Nicky.

I'm fine, Mom.

He told me what you said.

Mom, of course I'm not gonna kill myself. I was just upset when I said that.

What about that stuff you posted online?

Seriously, Mom. I'm fine. I say stuff all the time that I don't mean.

So, you lie?

C'mon, Mom.

. . .

. . .

Let's get out of here.

Huh?

Put on your clothes. Let's go to the field.

I don't feel like it.

That's a first! C'mon, I'm gonna give you a soccer lesson today.

Do I have to?

Yes, but clean up this room first.

. . .

like lightning

you strike

fast and free

legs zoom

downfield

eyes fixed

on the checkered ball

on the goal

ten yards to go

can't nobody stop you

can't nobody cop you

till, like a siren in a storm,

she catches you

zips past you

strips the ball

trips you (fall)

watching her

dribble away

all the while thinking

it's bad that you got beat

by another girl

and worse

that the other girl is

your mother.

was just like old times:

cinnamon French toast,

Dutch pancakes,

Ping-Pong.

Now she's on

the pitch

talking trash

and you're feeling

a little better

until . . .

I've been calling and calling.

Been a little busy with—

Sugar balls, Nicky! Too busy to return a call?

I'm not a kid anymore, Mom. I have a life.

Oh, you have a life, do you?

Yep.

Does your so-called life involve that little hot mama from dance class?

Huh?

Oh, really, you're going to play clueless.

No, she's just a friend.

What's her name?

April.

That's pretty. Aren't you too young to have a girlfriend?

I don't have a girlfriend. Plus, I'm almost thirteen.

You're still my Little Nicky.

Whatever, Mom. Let's finish playing.

Yeah, you can use the practice.

I'm good, actually. I scored two goals in my last game. You'd know that if you were here.

I heard that.

. . .

Are you giving your father a hard time?

He's a jerk.

Be careful—he's your father. And since when is making you do your chores being a jerk?

So you two are talking again?

Nicky, he's doing what he thinks is best for you.

Making me read the dictionary is best for him, not me.

Your father loves you and he's—

Blah blah blah.

Don't make me hurt you, boy.

Can we just play, please?

So we're okay?

Yeah, as long as you stop tripping me. That's the only way you scored.

You're the one trippin'. That was no foul.

Maybe not when you played in the olden times.

If only your defense was as good as your jokes.

How long are you staying?

A few days, but I'll be back in two weeks.

You should come to my game this weekend. We're playing in New York, against the number one ranked team in the country.

About that, Nick.

It's only New York, Mom. We have a ton of chaperones.

I'm afraid you won't be going to New York with the team.

You're gonna drive me?

Your father and I have decided you won't be playing this weekend. I'm sorry.

WHAT?! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!

You try everything. Coach

even calls Mom to beg her.

But, again, you have no rights.

and an army green long sleeved

F
READ
OM
tee,

The Mac sees you

walk in the library

and hollers

(right in front of

everyfreakinbody
):

IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR APRIL FARROW,

YOU'RE OUT OF LUCK.

NO BOOK CLUB TODAY, PELÉ.

Then he winks at you, laughs,

goes back to shelving books

and eating his sandwich.

Cowboys fan?
he asks, sneaking up while you're on the computer.
I saw you Googling Dallas.

I'm going to the Dr. Pepper Dallas Cup. My soccer team got invited to play.

This weekend?

In three weeks. This weekend blows.

The weekend's not even here yet. Think positive.

I had a soccer tournament in New York, but my parents said I can't go.

Sorry to hear that, Pelé.

Why do parents suck?

Try a different word.

My bad, Mr. Mac. Why do
GUARDIANS
suck!

Ha! Ha! Who your parents are now is not who they were or who they will be. You may not like them now, but you will.

Doubt it!

You get one chance to love, to be loved, Nick. If you're lucky, maybe two.

It's just hard to love someone who cancels the cable right before the
Walking Dead
marathon.

Instead of

playing soccer

in the Big Apple,

today

you're sitting

in the Center for Relational Recovery

on a pleather couch

between Mom and Dad,

staring at a quote by

a man named Freud

on the wall

behind a,

get this,

psychologist

with a black and white beard longer

than
Santa Claus's,

a red pencil in his mouth,

and a tendency to ask stupid questions:

What else besides soccer makes you happy?

How do you feel when you're sad?

Do you miss your mom?

All because your bike

got stolen

and you lost

your cool

one night

and then

posted

that you needed

someone

to intervene

between you

and the monsters

and your cousin Julie

told your aunt

who called your dad

who texted Mom

who drove all night

and scheduled

an appointment

with St. Nick